Tell me, love, what sin commits your thumb for the brushing of my wrist? What crime is there in desiring the touch of skin to skin, the comfort of another’s heartbeat beneath your palm? Surely none could grudge us this brief connection; we are but human, after all, and there are some things which cannot be expressed in words alone. Darling, let go of this guilt which so cripples and tortures you. Set free the man you have numbed with alcohol and loathing all these years. You deserve better. You deserve more. There is no perversion in love, no deviance, no sickness. This touch does not taint us. If you would but embrace the longing and seek its fulfillment through our union, our devotion, you could understand how by love we are transformed into something greater than our separate selves. This misery will pass one day, I promise. You have me now, and in my arms you will find only safety and acceptance.
[ Above is the second of the pictures I commissioned from Megan Engel. It makes me want to give both of my boys a big hug (ah, the look on Tanim's face!) – or maybe a smack on the head to stop being so angsty. Don't worry, the third picture will be a tad more upbeat. And by upbeat I of course mean sexy. ]